


My One in a Million is Searching for Bluer Skies

by imaginingcredence



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9360587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginingcredence/pseuds/imaginingcredence
Summary: A tattoo au in which Credence finds a tattoo shop and finds strength in creating art out of his past. He learns to accept what has happened to him and grow from it and turn his life into a work of art--he just happens to fall in love with his tattoo artist, Conner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first post on Ao3, so this is super exciting. I hope whoever ends up reading this enjoys the first part. :')

Credence should have known better, but years of abuse at the hands of his mother had left him starved for affection and vulnerable to manipulation. He should have known that Percival Graves had meant no good. But Credence was eighteen, scared out of his mind, and the older man knew all the right words. A couple of quick fucks and some forced kindness had felt a whole lot like love at the time. When Credence’s mother had fallen from the second floor and to her death, dragging Chastity along with her, Credence had sought his Mr. Graves but had been greeted with a harsh slap and an angrily muttered “Pathetic.” Credence had crumpled on the Welcome mat at his front door and sobbed. 

In fact, he had sobbed for hours, not knowing where to go. Modesty had been taken away since she was a minor and since he was unfit to care for her, but he himself was an adult then—an adult with nowhere to turn, no other connections, not after the life he’d had with Mary Lou. So eventually, Mr. Graves had opened his door and his home, but… Credence hated to think of that terrible year he’d spent there, the abuse between casual, distant sexual encounters, the time spent feeling like nothing more than a roach in the presence of someone he thought had loved him. He had been very proud of himself once he had summoned to courage to pack his bag and leave, finding the cheapest place he could on the opposite end of town.

Five years had passed since the night he’d spent crying in front of Mr. Graves’s front door. Credence was working at a quaint book store now, with old creaking floors and over-stacked shelves, owned by a Mr. Newt Scamander and his wife, Tina, two people who had become like family to him. He had grown his hair out and normally wore it in a loose bun on the top of his head, a weak rebellion against the rigid upbringing he had suffered. Sometimes the past rushed to him with a vengeance still, but other times, he felt like he could really be happy. He made enough money to afford rent on his shitty apartment every month, and that was enough. He was free, and he was surviving. And honestly that was more than he had ever expected.

\--

Conner hadn’t had things much easier than Credence. His parents had never been openly abusive, but they definitely hadn’t cared very much whether or not he was happy and often left him hungry and uncared for. Maybe that’s why he’d been driven into so many unsuccessful relationships that drained all of his energy and why he had done so poorly in school—he’d always preferred his pen and a sketchbook to droning lectures he couldn’t bring himself to care about. Maybe that’s why he failed out of his first year in college, too. And then it had been disastrous—getting kicked out of his house had been hard, and even harder still when he could barely afford a place to live off a shitty job delivering pizzas.

But it was also around this time that he was discovered by a local tattoo artist, Hannah, who had been so fond of his work that she had taken him in as her apprentice. For free. He hadn’t ever really considered a “career,” but he found the idea of creating art for a living to be as glamorous as he ever could have dreamt. And Conner was honestly more than grateful, happy to learn, and quickly became Hannah’s favorite apprentice.

Five years had passed since she had found him and taken him under her wing. Conner was now working happily subordinately to Hannah in her shop. Though she was only ten years or so his senior, she had become a mother-like figure who had fostered his creativity and taught him how to embrace it. He now sported a few of his own tattoos and felt very proud to know there were people walking around out in the real world with his art on their bodies. Sometimes he considered that this was not what he had originally planned for himself, but most other times, he was completely happy and totally satisfied in his career. And honestly Conner couldn’t have wished for a better life.

\--

For Credence, today was like most other days—one he spent quietly sitting behind the desk in the book shop, absently reading a book he had picked up from one of the shelves and waiting to see if anyone would come in. Which someone eventually did. Three someones, to be exact. Three teens, his least favorite kind of people, and maybe thirty minutes before close. He was as friendly as he needed to be, calling out a soft-voiced “Welcome” as the three walked around wasting time in the store before whatever they had planned and with no intent to buy anything at all.  
They were laughing past him when it happened. Credence had gingerly placed the book down as they approached the desk, and in doing so, a flash of his scars had not gone unnoticed. He watched one of the faces drop and the quiet muttering that followed, and all-of-a-sudden Credence was eighteen years old again and wondering if his body was too small to hold him inside or if the world was just smothering him.

They had scuttled out with little to no incident, but Credence was still…lost. He hated it, hated his past, hated how people could see it on him without saying anything. He had accepted what had happened to him, but he still couldn’t accept the judgment. So he had locked up shop without saying Goodbye to Newt or Tina and decided to just go home and try to shrug it off and not get too wrapped up.  
And then, walking home from work, he saw it—the glowing sign among the dark windows in the middle of a sleeping street—“Tattoos.” And Credence had an idea.

\--

For Conner, today was like most other days—some early morning appointments and then waiting around to help Hannah with hers and to see about any walk-ins since they were small enough that walk-ins weren’t unheard of. It was a pretty boring day, all things considered. He had done a pretty heart on a blushing girl and inscribed a sailing ship on one of the men who lived nearby, and other than that, he sat around.

And then he walked in. He seemed to be shrinking on himself, the way he was walking, though he was perhaps only a year younger than Conner himself, but his raven-black hair was sloppily pulled into a bun and revealed dramatic cheekbones and the sharpest jawline Conner had ever seen. He wore loose grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt that seemed to be a size too small, resting as dangerously high on his hips as his sweatpants were low, revealing a thin strip of white midriff. He looked tragic and lost, but mostly he looked beautiful. 

When he met Conner’s eyes for the first time, a fierce determination seemed to overtake the gentle honey-brown of them as he shuffled close. “Hello.” He sounded uncertain, twisting his hands together in front of him and not daring to touch the counter, and Conner knew then that he had never been in a tattoo shop in his life.

Conner did, however, have to push past a lump in his throat from the heaviness of the beautiful boy’s gaze. “Do you have an appointment?” He knew the answer was No even before the boy shook his head. “We do accept walk-ins, so what can I do for you, Mister?”

The boy seemed to startle at the title before he spoke. He averted his eyes, casting them to the floor, before looking up with new determination. “My name is Credence.” He just wanted the boy behind the counter to have something to call him, not Mister, not what he had been forced to call him all those years ago. “And I want to cover these up.”

At that, he held up his palms for Conner to see—Conner refrained from gasping or analyzing for too long because clearly, this was important to the boy—to Credence—standing in front of him. But the scars were staggering, red and puckered, clearly old but clearly as traumatizing as they had been painful. “Well, Credence, let’s talk design. Hannah has to finish up this client tonight, but—”  
“I want them done now.” Credence spoke more quickly than he had meant to, cutting Conner off, and blushed at his forwardness. Normally he would have been more reserved, more polite, but he just needed this. And he needed it now, so this time, more softly, he inquired, “C-Could you do them? I…don’t want to wait.”

Conner thought the color in his cheeks was very pretty but didn’t say so and simply nodded instead. “I can.” At these words, Credence showed his first smile, small and shy, but beautiful nonetheless. “We can talk about what you want done in the back, okay?”

At Credence’s nod, Conner gestured for him to follow and thus began the first of what would be many appointments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence gets his first tattoo and begins to open up to Conner while it's getting done.

Conner could not believe it. Everyone in town was always making appointments with Hannah and the other bigger names in the shop, so it was rare that a walk-in followed through when they realized their tattoo would be done by himself or the other tattoo-artists-in-training, let alone someone like him, like Credence. So Conner found himself a little bit nervous and excited to get to literally create art that would be on this young man (who himself was already art, if Conner was being truthful) forever.

Once they had reached Conner’s back room, it was clear that Credence was nervous. He was completely silent and stood awkwardly in front of the seat instead of actually sitting in it; it took Conner verbally offering the seat to Credence for him to sit down. The only terror of this situation for Conner was that Credence clearly hadn’t thought this through and had clearly put no thought into what tattoo he wanted done, but he wasn’t intoxicated in any way and was of very sound mind. So this was something he definitely wanted to do. Conner just had no idea how to help him and knew only that he wanted to help, and he knew he would try his hardest to do justice for this young man sitting anxiously next to him. “So…Credence, would you like to look at my portfolio? Maybe see some designs you might like, or a similar idea that you think I could do for you?”

Credence’s eyes were wide, blinking back at him, and they reflected back the light in the room with an intense brightness as he nodded gently, holding his hands out to accept the folder Conner handed him. This was the perfect time for Conner to carefully study him without being called out for it. So he did.

And even close up, Conner was convinced that the young man in front of him might be an angel. His was a very delicate face, very deliberately structured, if that made any sense. Up close, Conner could see stress lines between Credence’s eyebrows and by the corners of his mouth, where lines curved down from a life of frowning instead of up from smiling. There was a thin line of sweat across his forehead and gathering where his eyebrows had drawn together to concentrate, and when he flipped the pages, Conner could see flashes of the scars on his palms again. The sight of them made his stomach churn, not from the marks themselves but from thinking about the violence inflicted by them, and he felt himself wonder who had hurt Credence, sitting so delicately in front of him. “Mister?” Credence’s soft voice pulled Conner from his brief distraction.

He shot Credence a crooked smile and said, “Please, call me Conner.”

Credence was running his fingers gently across one of the pages as he tested the name out. “Conner.” Conner tried not to be flustered at hearing his name come from such a beautiful mouth, especially since his attentions could probably not have been less welcome. “I…would like something like this.” Conner shuffled closer to Credence and looked at the design—an intricate vine pattern that had been one of Conner’s favorite doodles. “I would like it to go up the side of my hand, I think. Coming from my wrist maybe, if that makes sense, if that’s okay…”

“I think that would be beautiful, Credence. Let me just get my things together, and we can talk it out and get started, okay?” Credence nodded at him, and Conner could feel those honey-brown eyes trained on him as he moved about the room. “These might…hurt, Credence. I don’t know how much you know about tattoos, but. You’re sure about these?”

Credence considered for a moment. Whatever pain these tattoos would cause him in the moment, it was a pain he was choosing, which already made them less painful than even the memories the scars on his palms held, so he nodded definitively. “Yes, I’m sure about these.”

They decided to do the pattern on Credence’s left hand first—to make sure that if it was too painful following the tattoo, it was on his non-dominant hand, and it would give Credence a feel for what getting tattoos was like and could give him some kind of reference, should he ever want more tattoos. And Conner had been right—getting a tattoo on his hand did hurt. It didn’t help that Credence hadn’t brought a friend with him either, though, so Conner tried to lessen the attention on the pain by asking some questions and starting a conversation—not totally unselfishly, since he was, in fact, intrigued by the raven-haired boy so readily sacrificing his hand to the tattoo and since he wanted to learn more about him. Though the pain wasn’t entirely unwelcome, it may have been why Credence answered Conner’s filler questions as thoroughly as he did. “Why vines, Credence? Do you like the natural designs, or?”

“Growth. I like the idea of growth.” Credence’s voice was breathier than usual as he tried to concentrate on his answers instead of the tattoo machine. “I like to believe that I grew from what happened to me. From what they did to me. I want to keep growing.”

Conner could only offer minimal answers, so that he could focus and so that he could refrain from being totally absorbed with those intense eyes gazing at him intently. “Then I’m sure you’ll keep growing, Credence.” He wished he had more to offer.

“I hope so. My mother…” Conner felt a near heart-convulsion overcome him but remained attentive to the task at hand and hoped his countenance didn’t betray him. He was, in fact, face-to-face with those scars, and the information that was being insinuated was…disturbing, at the very least. “She said I was wicked. And I thought I was too, for a long time. And Gellert… He certainly didn’t help. I can’t believe I thought he loved me.” Conner very carefully tried not to focus on the information he was gathering through Credence’s nervous babbling—and the fact that Credence may have unknowingly outed himself to a virtual stranger. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to… I’m oversharing.”

Conner chuckled at that. “We hear a lot back here. Do what you need to be comfortable, Credence. I’m all ears, if that’s what you need.”

Credence blushed at that, and Conner tried not to smile too widely at the adorable coloring of his cheeks. “I just… I’m not used to being listened to, I guess. And I’m trying not to focus on the machine going, and… I guess that’s led to my babbling, a bit.” Credence chuckled lightly, ducking his head and reaching a free hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“That’s fair. I can hardly blame you for that. I quite like listening to you, especially since I can’t talk too much currently, so please, feel free to keep talking, Credence.” He stopped his hands for a moment to look up briefly to Credence, who was returning his gaze shyly.

So, Credence continued to talk. Conner noted that the volume of his voice never increased, but the pauses in his sentences, the tentative breaks, came fewer and farther between. Conner learned that Mary Lou had been Credence’s adoptive mother’s name, and that he had had two sisters—one who had died with his mother and one who was still out there somewhere. He learned about Gellert—only in vague detail—that Credence had dated him, more or less, and that things had not been good, so he had left. He learned that Credence worked at the book shop down the street and that he adored Newt and Tina, the store owners, quite a bit and thought of them as his family. And he wished he could have learned more details before he had finished, but alas, he was forced to declare, “It’s all finished, Credence. It’ll be red and irritated for a while, and I’ll give you instructions on how to care for it properly, but… What do you think for now?”

Credence turned his hand around to look at it intently. Through the blood and inflammation, he was in awe of the image—swirling vines circled his wrist and curved up his thumb and side of his left hand, swooping in a gentle curve onto the back of his hand. Leaves branched from it in certain places, and it was everything he could have hoped for. Conner enjoyed taking in his wide, happy eyes as Credence drank in the sight of his new tattoo, and he was glad to have been able to do this for such a beautiful soul. “Thank you.” It was hardly above a whisper, and Conner thought this had to have been the most heartfelt thanks he had ever received and was slightly humbled by it.

“Of course, Credence. I’m so glad that you like it.”

Credence turned a dazzling smile to him then, all teeth and crinkled eyes, and Conner was briefly blinded. Once payment was settled and information given on after-care, Credence stood to leave. His tall, lean frame seemed less hunched than when he had come in, and there was a lightness about him that hadn’t been there before. After thanking him again for coming in, Conner was about to return to the counter and convey the events of tonight to Hannah when Credence hesitated by the doorway, causing him to stop short. Credence hesitantly turned back to Conner before walking cautiously over and hugging him. It was totally unexpected and caught him totally off-guard, but it took only a moment for Conner to return the embrace. “I know you do this a lot, but it really means so much to me. I may be back.”

Credence pulled himself quickly from Conner after that and shuffled quickly out the door, leaving a very flustered Conner wondering how soon he would get to see that beautiful boy again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence gains some confidence as a direct result of his tattoo, and Conner can't stop thinking about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interrupting some tattoos for some Credence embracing femininity.

Conner…could not think about anything else except Credence. Hannah had begun teasing him relentlessly, and honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t exactly subtle. Since encountering him, Conner noticed that Credence walked past the tattoo shop on his trip to work every day—he was often wearing loose-fitting pants and nicer t-shirts, since it was a family owned shop and was more lax in its uniform choices. He also had his hair pulled into that messy bun of his most days, but Conner could not forget the one morning Credence had come running down the street, hair spilling in loose waves around him, shirt riding up his body as he reached to hold his pants up with one hand and attempted to control his hair with the other—he must have been late. Hannah playfully called him out on his admiring from afar and wondered why he didn’t just go talk to the guy—Conner did not have a good answer to that, really.

Credence, however, wasn’t much better off. He took extremely good care of his new tattoo, following Conner’s after-care instructions to the letter. Newt and Tina were both quite fond of Credence’s new tattoo and the sentiment behind them, since they alone knew the details of what he’d been through. But Credence, though enamored with the tattoo itself, was also intrigued with the boy who created it, the mind behind the art. He had had an intense kindness in his eyes, and an unmistakable empathy too. Credence had never before had anyone listen so intently to him. Part of him was certain that he had only listened so intently because he had nothing else to listen to, but another part of him thought that one couldn’t feign interest like that. At the most inopportune moments of the day, Credence found himself rubbing tenderly at the sore tattoo that was healing nicely and wondering how soon would be too soon to go see Conner again—for more tattoos as well as for extended time in his company.  
And so they continued to operate in this way—close in orbit but not quite intersecting.

Honestly, after about a week and a half of admiring Credence for five seconds as he walked by the shop window, Conner was beginning to feel badly about it all. Here he was, pining after a boy he had encountered exactly once in his life, but he couldn’t help it. Credence’s mind had been in his eyes, and Conner was captivated—in fact, Conner found himself drawing those eyes expressing various emotions and always observing, always omniscient in their gaze. And watching from the window without saying anything just wasn’t going to cut it for much longer, since he was growing more restless with each sketched eye. He hoped that Credence would come back for more tattoos, but he just couldn’t be certain of that, which was a fact that was starting to worry him. Conner just felt like he needed that final push to encourage him to talk to Credence again.

And that final push came exactly two weeks post-tattoo. It was much like most other days, only this time… Credence looked different, in the most wonderful way. There was a lightness in his step because… Well, because he had woken up in a good mood, which was both new and welcomed. His tattoo didn’t hurt so much anymore and captivated him as he admired it, and he felt…freer, somehow, looking at it. So he decided to branch out and try his hand at something he had only speculated trying with Newt and Tina. He opened his neglected drawer and pulled out a tube of red lipstick, some mascara, and an outfit he had bought on a whim, which was assumed to be for a girlfriend (little did they know).

So what Conner saw on this morning was Credence alright, but it was a Credence who looked…free. He was wearing a loosely billowing white tank top that stopped just above his hip bones and low-riding dark red skinny jeans—clearly feminine but seemingly made for him—and his lips were stained a shocking scarlet, unhidden by his hair, which was curlier than normal but pulled into a sloppy bun nevertheless. He looked absolutely beautiful—breathtaking, really, and Conner was taken with the way he was presenting himself, springing steps and loose frame and a wide smile on his face as he waved down the street (presumably to Newt and Tina as they were opening up). Conner, of course, did not miss the flash of Credence’s tattoo, which seemed to be healing marvelously, and felt a swell of pride to have his art exist on such a beautiful human being. And he knew that today was the day he would summon the courage to talk to Credence, at least one more time.

\--

The day worked out really well for Credence. He was working the whole day, since Newt and Tina had asked for a well-deserved day off, and the day itself was very slow, which he was thankful for since it was so long. Only a few straggling customers had come in, and no one had really mentioned his attire or even given him more than a cursory glance, which left Credence thankful for the lack of negative attention. He supposed that it was as good as an experience as he could have hoped for, for his first time going out in public dressed so explicitly effeminately. He felt pretty, and that’s all he had wanted. That and to keep the happiness of the morning going—which he did. Every glance at his tattoo reminded him that he was growing, including today, a day he had used to fulfill a long-time desire of his; he drew strength, he felt, from the tattoo itself. He was thinking that he didn’t know that the day could get any better as he looked once again to the vines winding around his wrist and up his hand stretching when he reached to put a book back on its shelf.

As he was thinking this, the bell on the front door dinged, signaling Credence that someone had just walked in. He was a little confused when the footsteps stopped seemingly by the front desk instead of wandering further into the store, so he called out gently, “I’ll be up in just one second, sorry for the wait!” When the person didn’t answer back and merely shuffled around for a second in response, Credence grew slightly anxious. “I’m on my way up, so sorry.” Credence wished he weren’t so nervous for seemingly no reason as he walked to the front.

And came face-to-face with Conner, the boy who had given him his first tattoo. He couldn’t help that he just stopped walking and stared at him instead, taking in Conner’s plain white t-shirt and dark jeans and wondering what he was doing standing by the front desk of his book store. Credence also had a fleeting sense of fear over what Conner might say about how he was dressed—Credence had dressed for himself, but his confidence was fragile. He couldn’t help but worry.

The worry was short-lived, however, as Conner broke the silence between them. “Good afternoon, Credence.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence and Conner have a conversation for the first time since the tattoo and schedule the next appointment. Both are super flustered and oblivious.

A strange silence fell between them. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it was unfamiliar, each of them quietly assessing the other. Credence couldn’t fathom why Conner would be in his book shop, standing there and looking slightly uncomfortable, twisting his hands together in front of him. The silence was stretching, and Credence felt a burning in his tattoo that urged him to speak first. “Hello, Conner. Is there…something I can do for you today?”

Conner startled at the gentle lilt in Credence’s voice (and the use of his name) cracking the prior established silence and realized with some sense of panic that he had no plan and would have to come up with something on the fly. “I just…came to see how you were doing. With your tattoo, I mean. I figured, you know, you said you worked here, and it’s not far out of my way. So I figured, you know, that I’d see how the healing was coming along. Since it’s your first one and all.” Conner was rambling, and his excuse barely convinced himself. He really should have thought this through.

All it took was a slight tilt of Credence’s scarlet-stained lips for Conner to know he was caught. But if Credence really knew that Conner was bluffing, he never let anything on, simply glided gently back behind the desk with Conner’s eyes trailing him before he sat on the stool there. “It’s coming along nicely, thank you. There’s still some peeling, but… It doesn’t hurt, and it’s so beautiful. Really, thank you.”

His voice was softer and gentler than it had been when they had first met, now that Credence was more relaxed, and Conner was even more captivated by it. “I’m so glad that you like it. I love…giving tattoos.” He could have smacked himself at how stupid he sounded just then, but Credence just smiled softly at him without calling him out in the slightest.

Credence’s eyes, which had been focused on the desk, shifted up to look directly at Conner then. He was tucking a loose curl back behind his ear as he spoke. “I’ve been…thinking about coming back in. To get another one. I just…really like them. I guess the first one just kind of…sparked something, in me. Looking at it…makes me feel better.” His voice had trailed to just above a whisper. He knew that he had divulged some information to Conner during their first session, but it still felt weird to admit his feelings aloud to a near stranger.

Conner returned a loose, easy smile. Credence vaguely envied Conner’s seeming ease, the openness of his frame and the strength in his words. “You know you’re welcome back any time. I can always schedule you in with Hannah, if you had an idea of what you wanted.” It hurt Conner a little bit to admit Credence had options because he wanted to be the one to tattoo him, but he also knew that Hannah was the more experienced artist and that Credence deserved the best.

Credence was looking intently at him, with those eyes of his that Conner had been sketching for two weeks now, and Conner could see the mind behind the eyes working. “I’d…prefer if you did them, actually. I don’t admit…this stuff often, and I’d like to limit who I tell. Or show, for that matter.” Conner processed this and recognized that that actually made a lot of sense and couldn’t help but be selfishly thankful that Credence had come to him first. “And…I trust you.”

That last statement caught them both off-guard. Credence could feel heat rising in his cheeks at the boldness of his comment, and Conner didn’t point out to him that he was blushing because he himself was probably blushing too, if the flaming of his own face was any indication. “Well, I’m…glad, Credence. Honestly. You seem like a really nice guy,” Way to sound straight, Conner. “and I really look forward to being able to work on you again.” Did you really just fucking say that?

Credence smiled softly at his words anyway, accidentally letting out a breathy chuckle. Conner smiled at the sound, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. A few moments of silence passed between the two before Credence spoke again. “Really, thank you. I know this is…your job, but… This really means a lot to me. Any future ones I get will mean just as much. So I just wanted to…thank you, again.” Credence felt silly and redundant, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. That, and he honestly did want to thank Conner again—the tattoo twirling from his wrist was a step toward something he didn’t know he needed. And he was excited to explore where it would take him.

Conner, if he noticed the redundancy, made no inclination that he was irritated by it. He honestly had never been the subject of so much flattery in his life, and it was humbling and gratifying all at once. “It may be my job, but the thanks still means a lot.” He didn’t want to be cliché and tell Credence that he’d never met anyone like him or that no gratitude had ever been expressed so genuinely, for fear that he would make Credence uncomfortable, so he was trying to keep the mood light.

Credence smiled one of his small smiles before asking, “Can I make an appointment? With you, I mean?”

Conner nodded and smiled, hopefully not too brightly, in response. “Yeah, of course! I’m free mostly whenever, since I’m not like… Well, since I’m the apprentice, but if you make the appointment, it guarantees that time will be for you. So, when were you thinking about dropping by?” Conner could talk tattoos; this left him feeling more confident in his answers and less silly for talking.  
Credence seemed to contemplate, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the desk, letting his tank top billow loosely around him as he drummed his fingers against the surface. Conner felt himself swallow thickly. “Does this Saturday work okay for you? After I close up here, so around the same time I came in last time.”

Two days. Conner could wait two days. “Yeah, that works just fine. Let me just make a note of it.” Credence watched him pull his phone out and type the appointment into his calendar. Credence observed the way Conner’s dark eyes flicked around the keyboard on his phone and the way his hair swooped around his eyes and thought distractedly that he was a particularly pretty boy. Not that he’d admit that to him. He couldn’t risk coming off the wrong way. Not to mention the anxiety that came with the idea of admitting it was overwhelming. So he kept his mouth shut and waited for Conner to finish typing. 

When he looked up, his eyes themselves seemed to be smiling—he couldn’t help it; he had a guaranteed time to see Credence. Credence, though, felt a little dwarfed by so much direct attention and could feel himself involuntarily hunching in a little bit. He didn’t want to and knew that he was okay for right now, with Conner, but he just…couldn’t fight it and the instinctive fear of being observed. Conner, realizing Credence’s discomfort, shifted his eyes to the floor, not exactly sure what was wrong but wishing Credence’s comfort would come back for him. “I guess… That’s it for now then. I’ll see you Saturday?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound too hopeful.

Credence tried to straighten out and meet his eyes but fell slightly short. He did answer though, with his voice as soft as ever. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there.”

Credence wished he could explain, wished he could tell Conner what was going on in his head, but it was too soon. He didn’t know Conner that well and didn’t know exactly what they were—friends or acquaintances who just had tattoos to facilitate the relationship between them—and wasn’t sure how he would explain anyway. So he left those to be the final words between them—before Saturday, that is—and listened to Conner’s footsteps carry farther and farther away before hearing the door open and the bell ding. 

Well, they would have been the final words if Conner hadn’t stopped in the door, turning to look at Credence one more time, resting in sunlight drifting in from the window and looking like the most beautiful, wounded porcelain doll, and said, “And by the way, you look beautiful today, Credence.”

Conner hurried quickly out the door, hoping that he had hidden the blush on his face that had flared as soon as he’d said the words, and missed Credence’s answering blush, flustered smile, and ultimately brightened face. Both eagerly anticipated Saturday separately.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The appointment for Credence's second tattoo rolls around.

Conner spent the next two days in near agony with Hannah’s laughter in the background as his soundtrack. He groaned about it for two days straight, especially once he realized he had no real reason to visit Credence at the book store again, since he had already “checked in” to see how the tattoo was healing and since it was fine. So Conner whined while Hannah laughed, and time seemed to be going slower than ever.

And when Saturday came, Conner was unbearable—reminding Hannah every two minutes that Credence was coming, making sure all of his materials were in order even though he literally just checked, adjusting his outfit despite the fact that he probably was never going to make a move… He was just constantly moving and irritating the hell out of Hannah, so he was banished to the front of the shop to wait.

Credence was not much better, but he spent most of the day alone, which meant no one was there to complain about his fidgeting. When no one was in the store, he couldn’t help but clutch his idea to his chest, one that had struck just the day before as he listened to his music filling the store as he worked. He also couldn’t help fantasizing about the ink pressing into his skin and the consequent pain that meant he was cleansing himself just a little bit more from the darker pain (the past) he was carrying—like each break of his skin was letting that pain seep out into the air and fly away, like he could be himself the more ink permanently stained him. So yeah, one might say that Credence was a little more absentminded at work this Saturday. And one might have observed Credence nearly jogging to the tattoo shop down a few streets street when it was time to go.

And Conner was so thankful to have been sitting up front to witness Credence walk in. His hair had fallen from his walk over, the bun resting loose and low at the base of his neck and sacrificing strands in the process of its falling, and his face was flushed a warm pink from walking so quickly. He wore a plain white t-shirt and black jeans, and he was effortlessly beautiful. His eyes lazily scanned the room, almost feline in their intense observations, before resting on Conner himself and—Oh, Conner had to fight himself not to overanalyze the brightness that filled them when Credence waved. At that moment, Conner noticed the crumpled paper Credence was clutching in his other hand but refrained from asking about it yet. “Hey, Credence!” Hopefully that wasn’t too bright, and hopefully Conner wouldn’t feel like he was high-school crushing on this boy some day soon.

Credence flashed a dazzling smile quickly, and Conner thought it was breathtaking but realized that Credence rarely smiled for too long and often looked conflicted after smiling at all, like he looked now. Conner refrained from comment on this as well. “Hello, Conner.” So quiet.

“You’re right on time, why don’t we head to the back?” He tried not to smile too brightly and also tried to ignore Hannah’s head peeking out from behind her door of the room she was working. He couldn’t help but beam at Credence’s small smile and answering nod as he shuffled forward to follow Conner back. When they had a little more privacy, Conner asked, “What you got for me, dude?” Dude?? Seriously???? Conner could have slapped himself.

Credence suppressed a laugh at being called “dude.” It wasn’t exactly vernacular he was used to hearing and not something he had really expected Conner to call him. “Well, I…don’t really know how it works, but I was listening to music yesterday and… Well, this one line really struck me, and I thought that I might want to have it along my…along my hips… It’s important to me that it’s in my handwriting, I just…need to remember it. So I wrote it.”'

Conner reached out his hand to collect the sheet of paper Credence was surrendering and had to fight a grin at Credence’s blush when their hands touched briefly during the exchange. He unfolded the paper, noticing the slanted, rushed handwriting and couldn’t help the pang of hurt that rattled in his chest when he read the lyrics—“I’m gonna be everything I always wished I could now.” He realized he had been staring at the paper for too long when Credence began twisting his hands together uncomfortably and staring at his shoes. “I can do this for sure. I just have to make the stencil, okay?”

Credence nodded and sat carefully on the chair while Conner worked. As the silence settled, Conner still working, Credence wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to say something. “W…Why did you get your tattoos?” he found himself asking, against all the anxiety in his head telling him to be quiet and let Conner work.

Conner was surprised, to put it mildly, when Credence inquired anything at all, let alone a personal question. He knew, based on observation of his behavior, that Credence was generally anxious and unsure, and based on what little information he’d discovered during their last tattoo session, he could see why. So he was quick to answer and made sure to draw little to no attention to the asking of the question itself, and the fact that he didn’t have to look Credence in the eye as he answered helped him find words too. “Not sure. Nothing too spectacularly interesting. Hannah found me and liked my art and took me in, and then I thought…why not? So maybe just to solidify the life I was given. Accepting it, maybe? It took like over a year to finish up both my sleeves, and I have a few others, but. Mostly I just wanted tattoos. I like having art on me, and I like that this is my life now, especially when it could have turned out so differently. If that makes sense?” At that, he couldn’t resist but look over to Credence, who looked adorably contemplative.

“That makes sense. I’m glad that you’re here too.” He colored crimson at that, and Conner was glad he chose that moment to turn back to his work so that he could grin unobserved. “I mean, that you got this life and that it…makes you happy.” 

“Yeah. Being happy is great. I wasn’t so sure my life would be satisfying for a while.”

Credence startled at that admission, and the fact that he was trusted with that information, but didn’t want to ask Conner to clarify because he wasn’t sure what was appropriate for him to ask. “I…understand that. I guess that’s why I’m getting these. To remind myself that I don’t have to be…stuck anymore. That I’m…free.” He watched Conner nod and decided to add, even more quietly, “I hope you’re free now too.”

Conner turned fully to Credence then and observed the open kindness in his face, the pure selflessness in this statement striking him in that moment. “I am, Credence. Thank you. I hope these”—gesturing to his current work—“help you feel as free as you are.”

Conner was glad his confidence had increased as he had settled into his work (where he was most comfortable, really) because it allowed him to make those kind of declarations and smile happily at Credence’s surprised blush. “…Thank you. They already are. Helping, I mean.”

The next period went by in comfortable silence as Conner finished the stencil, and he realized that any confidence he gained during that time would have to be channeled into focusing now that he had to tell Credence, “So… If you want this on your hips you need... You need to lift your shirt and pull down your pants some so that I…have room to put it there, you know?” He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. He hoped Credence wouldn’t take this the wrong way or feel uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem to. He simply nodded, standing to unbutton his pants and pulling his garments down slightly and lying down across the chair with his shirt pulled up enough that Conner could work. Conner swallowed thickly at the newly exposed length of pale skin but fell quickly into routine, losing those nerves as he began cleaning and shaving the area as he applied the stencil carefully. When he lifted it back up, he couldn’t help but smile softly at the way Credence seemed to be transfixed by the script left in its place on his skin, presumably preoccupied with the idea of having it on his skin forever. Conner remained silent to let Credence have his moment.

And Credence was, in fact, preoccupied with the ink that was soon to be a part of him, the words that would be pressed into his skin and stay there until he died. The comfort in the idea alone was unbelievable, to see his handwriting scrawling words that had come to mean everything, so bold on his pale skin. Credence also liked to watch Conner’s tattooed hands press against his hip, splashes of color against the ghostly white of his skin. He flushed crimson when he realized he had been staring at himself silently for so long and cleared his throat before looking up to Conner sheepishly. “I’m just…” For the billionth time in his life, Credence realized that words were going to fail him once again.

But Conner just smiled as he collected his things and said, “I understand, Credence. You don’t have to explain.”

For Credence, these words were monumental; he wasn’t used to people letting him just…be inside his head, was so used to others trying to pull him out of his mind and force him to share so that they could try to understand when they couldn’t, when he himself couldn’t. Shock rolled over him in waves even as Conner neared and prepared to begin tattooing. “Thank you.” It was breathless, hardly above a whisper, and said with more feeling than he had been prepared to indulge.

Conner looked up from his seat to look at Credence, whose pretty, sly eyes were assessing him intently. He couldn’t begin to understand what Credence was feeling or what he went through or even what he was thinking, but he was beginning to realize (with some dismay) that he wanted to try to at least know what was going on in the mind behind the feline eyes, even if he never really understood. He just wanted to know, to be allowed that privilege. And with this train of thought plaguing his mind, Conner pressed the tattoo gun to Credence’s pale hip and began Credence’s second tattoo.


End file.
